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  A Marine from the escort opened the door for Kris. Jack preceded them in, as he usually did, to do one quick check for security. Strange to see him apply that standard procedure to Nuu House, but habit was habit, and Kris loved him for the way he looked out for her and Ruthie.

  Kris walked into the foyer, with its spiraling black-and-white tiles . . . and came to a halt.

  On the staircase where Abby had once stood, there was a matronly figure in some sort of gray-and-white civilian uniform backed up by four younger women in the same attire, each a stair step higher than the last. At the foot of the stairs, echeloned out from them, stood four hard-faced people, three men and one woman, who, even if they wore suits, were cut from same identical mold.

  The older one looked familiar.

  “You are . . . ?” Kris started.

  “The guy who yelled for you to stop the elevator before you let yourselves out on a Sarin-gas-filled floor.”

  “Ah, yes. I believe I thanked you for that when you visited me on the Mutsu.”

  “Yes, you did, Your Highness.”

  “And I asked you to answer a question for me.”

  “You did that, Your Highness,” he said with the hint of a gleam in his eyes.

  “You must have answered it. When I got the message on where the trading fleet was, I knew you’d gotten to the bottom of Grampa Al’s suicidal plan. Was it too much of a problem?”

  “Not at all, Your Highness,” he said with a gentle smile.

  “Ha!” That was from the young woman of the group. “He nearly got himself killed, and he was kidnapped.”

  “Yes,” said a young male. “We have pictures, all unsuitable for work.”

  Kris raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, it may have been a tad tight for a bit,” the senior lawman allowed.

  “What brings you to Nuu House? Last I heard, you were a senior chief agent in charge for the Bureau of Investigations.”

  “I will likely be so again, Your Highness, but I and my talkative colleagues here have been seconded to the Secret Service to head up your protection detail.”

  Beside Kris, Jack cleared his throat. “We have several platoons of Marines to do that.”

  “No doubt, sir, but you will allow that we may be more informed as to matters here locally. You did quite well leading me a merry chase, but that was a bit over two years ago.”

  “He has a point,” Kris allowed.

  Jack considered that for a moment, then said, “I will coordinate my Marine guard with your people. I’m a belt-and-suspenders man where the safety of my wife and daughter are concerned.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more. Now, Your Highness, as you may recall, I am Senior Chief Agent in Charge Taylor Foile; these are the people who will be heading up one of your around-the-clock shifts. Mahomet Debot,” was a dark-haired man of swarthy complexion, as dark as Jack. “Rick Sanchez,” was only slightly lighter than Jack, “and Leslie Chu,” was a milk-skinned redhead who hardly looked the part of her surname. “One of these three or I will be on duty at all times, leading a team to protect you that will rarely be less than twenty strong. Please let us know thirty minutes in advance of your plans to leave the house, so we can get a police escort.”

  “Someone must consider us a high risk,” Jack said.

  “I have not been told anything except to apply this level of protection,” the agent said evenly. If he knew more, he was not telling.

  “Does my father have this much in the way of his going out for a drink?” Kris asked, eyes narrowing.

  “No, ma’am,” Agent Foile said evenly.

  “Hmm,” was all Jack had to add to Kris’s thoughts.

  “We must talk about this later, Agent Foile,” Kris said, and turned to the five women arrayed up the stairs. “And you are?”

  “We will provide twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, care for your infant,” the matronly woman answered.

  “What weapons are you qualified with, and when did you last shoot?” Kris snapped.

  “Weapons? Shoot?” the older woman said. If possible, the placid faces on her and her subordinates might have shown a hint of surprise.

  “Who hired you?” Kris asked, trying not to sound snappish.

  “Your mother, although I think there was another, older woman involved in vetting us,” the spokeswoman said.

  “Not an old, ramrod-straight military-type guy?”

  “No, Your Highness. Although the older woman did have that kind of clipped way of speaking.”

  “It comes from cohabitating with Grampa Trouble,” Kris allowed. “Okay, you are not weapons-qualified. We’ll have to see about changing that. Do you have a bag packed so you can run for the beanstalk if I suddenly decide to take off for space?”

  Now the women’s faces did drop. “Ah, er, ah, we weren’t told we would have to leave Wardhaven City,” the older woman answered. “And I, for one, have no desire to touch a gun, much less shoot one.” Two of the other women nodded agreement. The other two exchanged looks that seemed to say “I told you so,” but they didn’t join in the others’ open refusal.

  “Once again, my mother has done for me what I did not want or need. The three of you are dismissed. I will arrange for you to get two weeks’ severance pay. Special Agent Foile, please see that full background checks are made on the other two. There is a pistol range in the basement. General, detail two Marines to begin their introduction to weapons. By the way, ladies, if you have friends who are qualified as nannies and sharpshooters, or willing to learn, you may invite them to come in for an interview tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the two said with a bit of a curtsy.

  “Come with me,” said a new voice.

  Kris turned to find a young woman in Navy blues with the single stripe of an ensign on her sleeves and a gold aiguillette of staff on her right shoulder. “And you are?” Kris asked.

  “I am Ensign Megan Longknife, your aide-de-camp, secretary, and general dog robber, Your Highness. I qualified with several weapons at OCS last month, but you’ll likely want me to get better. Now, I’ll see that these three woman are properly taken care of and their access to the grounds revoked. May I borrow one of your Marines, General, to escort them to the front gate?”

  “Certainly. Carry on,” Jack said, and she turned smartly to follow her orders.

  “Just a moment, Ensign Longknife.” The young woman turned back to Kris. “I’ve never met you.”

  “No, ma’am. I’m from Santa Maria. The Alnaba side of the family.”

  “Ray’s daughter?”

  “Is my grandmother,” Meg supplied.

  Kris nodded. “Okay, carry on, and we’ll talk later. Nelly, help her with the paperwork.”

  “I think I already am, Kris.”

  That brought a frown to Kris’s face, but the young ensign had returned to her assignment, herding the three unqualified nannies from the foyer.

  Kris turned back to Special Agent Foile. “I assume your people are up to date on their weapons qualifications?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  The young woman with him, who looked like she was about to split a gut, burst out, “They even had us qualifying with machine pistols and long rifles. We knew something was up, but to be working with you, wow.”

  “You will have to excuse Leslie,” Foile said. “I think she was a founding member of your fan club.”

  “And we’ve been going crazy since you disappeared,” Leslie said, jumping in.

  Kris tried to keep from smiling at the young woman’s enthusiasm. “I’m afraid you will get little news from me,” she said.

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter. One of us had a cousin on the Wasp. I think she got him drunk last night ’cause there was all sorts of stuff on the net this morning. Did you actually blow away seven more of those monster ships?�
�

  Jack raised both eyebrows. Kris rolled her eyes, hoping whoever had told the tale hadn’t made it sound easy.

  “On second thought, I may have to find time for some interviews,” Kris admitted.

  “We’ll see that you get a better hearing than last time,” Leslie assured Kris.

  “I wouldn’t be too hard to improve on that one,” Jack muttered under his breath.

  Before anyone could answer that thought, the doorbell chimed.

  A Marine moved quickly to check on the new arrival, then braced as he called “Atten’hut,” and opened the door wide.

  5

  “As you were,” General Trouble said before the civilians could even figure out what was expected of them. He then added, “Relax,” when the Marines failed to take a breath.

  His wife and Kris’s mother followed him into the foyer.

  “Oh, how’s my little grandbaby?” Mother cooed, and headed for said child and proceeded to extract her from Kris’s arms without so much as a “may I?”

  Before Kris could cloud over, Gramma Trouble slipped between them. With a silent “I’ll take care of this,” she edged Mother and Ruthie away.

  “Where are the rest of the women I hired?” Mother asked, taking in the two on the stairwell.

  “They weren’t weapons-qualified,” Kris said.

  “Why would that matter?” Mother asked, befuddled.

  “Let’s take Ruthie upstairs and introduce her to her nursery,” Gramma Trouble suggested, and placed an arm on Brenda that urged her toward the stairs.

  “Come along, Kris,” Brenda said, not looking away from the child in her arms. “You’ll want to see all the changes we made in the nursery. It’s very modern. The latest safety equipment. You can monitor Ruthie’s temperature, heart, and breathing from anywhere in the house, and the floors are rubber. She’ll never hurt that cute bottom of hers.”

  “Kris’ll come along later,” Trouble said, determining Kris’s future.

  “I will?” Kris said, temper starting to burn.

  “We need to talk about your mission.”

  “Oh,” Kris said, and allowed herself to be edged toward the library.

  “Who do we need to include?” Jack asked.

  “I was thinking just you two,” Grampa Trouble said, looking very much the general.

  Jack shook his head. “Special Agent Foile needs to know what’s going on.”

  “You may well be right,” Trouble said, and turned to the four agents. “Foile, it’s good to see you again.”

  “Will you be talking this time?” had a sparkle around the senior agent’s eyes.

  “Will you be trying to arrest Kris and Jack this time?” Trouble answered back.

  The agent chuckled. “Not very likely.”

  “Then yes, I will be talking. Come along and hear the worst.”

  “Mahomet, check this rock pile’s security network. Leslie and Rick, familiarize yourself with the house. Are there any secret passageways, Your Highness?”

  “None that I ever discovered. Or my boyfriends, either.”

  “Have our teams look for them anyway,” Taylor said, then followed them into the library and locked the door behind them.

  Grampa Trouble led the long walk past book-lined walls and more bookshelves to the fireplace and the two couches beside it. Kris and Jack sat on one. Trouble and Agent Foile faced them across a low table that would provide them with a network screen if they needed one.

  “So, what brings you to our humble abode,” Jack said, “and why is our security detail larger than the prime minister’s?”

  “Probably because you’re more involved with the Peterwalds than Billy is or ever would want to be,” Trouble said.

  “Knocked that one out of the ballpark,” Kris said, and made to watch as if a high fly ball sailed over the fireplace.

  “Mind you, we don’t expect there to be any problems here, but once you leave United Society space, it’s anybody’s guess.”

  “That’s why I wanted two battle squadrons at least, maybe three. You think sixteen would be enough to defeat any Peterwald battle line?” Kris asked Jack.

  “Don’t ask me, hon. I’ve been as out of pocket the last two years as you’ve been.”

  “Nelly, have you got an update on the Peterwald Order of Battle? No, Trouble, sir, shouldn’t I be asking you?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Crossie lost several of his best agents in the Empire when they shot all the State Security types.”

  “Heavens, some of their intelligence people were on the take of our intelligence people?” Kris said, shocked, just shocked. “I think I’ve got the vapors.”

  “If Kris will stop being such a drama queen,” Nelly said, “I can give you a report.” Nelly, Kris’s computer, upgraded many times since she was given to her when she first started school, was worth a major chunk of one of her battlecruisers. Since her latest upgrade, Nelly had developed a tendency to argue with Kris and crack bad jokes.

  “Go ahead, Nelly,” Kris said.

  “I’ve accessed the Wardhaven network, including all data authorized to flag officers, and I’ve correlated it to my satisfaction. Greenfeld has been falling farther and farther behind in technology as she tears herself apart. We have no reports of any battleships with lasers larger than 18-inch. They are still building ships out of traditional metal, no Smart Metal. I would expect that eight battlecruisers would be sufficient to win a battle with either Vicky’s or the Empress’s fleet. Still, it would be better to send sixteen so we could overawe them and not have to fight.”

  Trouble raised an eyebrow as Nelly appended her recommendation to the end of her factual assessment.

  “Nelly is quite good,” Kris allowed.

  “I’m magnificent. The Magnificent Nelly,” Nelly crowed.

  “Just ask her yourself,” Kris grumped.

  “Ask anyone who’s alive because they had me to help them,” Nelly sniffed.

  “Down, girls,” Jack said.

  General Trouble swallowed a grin and went on, “That is pretty much what we assumed would be the threat you face. I’ve been trying to persuade everyone that you deserve two full squadrons, but it’s not easy to free up that many ships.”

  “Can I ask why?” Jack asked cautiously.

  “First, let me be clear, no one has spotted any evidence of the alien raiders, either in human space or around the Iteeche Empire. Whoever was nibbling around the edges of Iteeche territory has not shown up for a while. Believe you me, the Iteeche have built a whopping lot of frigates and searched all around themselves. I kind of like your idea of calling them battlecruisers now that they’re sporting 22-inch lasers. Oh, and the Iteeche have given us some ideas that our scientists think can be stretched to 24- or even 26-inch, or focused even tighter into an 18-incher with double the range or quadruple the power.”

  “And Greenfeld is just sitting all this out?” Kris said.

  “While they tear each other apart and squabble over the rubble,” Trouble added.

  “I thought Vicky was smarter than that,” Kris said. “Kind of dumb, and soulless as a tree stump, but smarter.”

  “It appears that she is. She sent over a certain intelligence asset who brought us up to date on what was going on. He also asked for some spidersilk underarmor for Vicky and her team. Her stepmother has been trying to kill Vicky. Really trying to kill her, like trying three or four times a day while she was still in the Palace.”

  “Good God,” Kris muttered, “that beats my worst day.”

  “By a lot,” Jack said.

  “So she had to rebel just to keep her head on her shoulders,” Kris concluded.

  “Something like that,” Trouble said. “That and the mess her stepmother and family are making of the entire Empire as they tear it down and steal anything of value from the wreck
age. A lot of people are at risk of starving to death. Your Vicky saved at least two worlds, maybe more, from the brink of cannibalism.”

  “She’s not my Vicky,” Kris pointed out.

  “Well, if I’d spent as much time as you have with her, and she was doing as good as Vicky has been doing in a bad situation, I’d want to claim a bit of the credit.”

  “Really?”

  “Wait until you get there, then make your own assessment,” Grampa Trouble said.

  “I will. By the way, you do know that while I’m pretty good at blowing things up, I don’t have much experience getting people to play nice in the sandbox. As in never.”

  “Really,” Grampa Trouble said, eyes wide in shock; then he chuckled, probably at the face Kris gave him. “We kind of know that, so we’ve been looking for folks who might help you figure a way out of this for everyone.”

  “Who?” Jack asked.

  “Well, we’ve tapped the chief mediator of the Wardhaven Office of Mediation. He’s had a lot of experience getting unions and managers to not kill each other.”

  “Maybe he could help us,” Kris allowed.

  “We’ve also got the senior arbitrator of the Bureau of Arbitration. They try to help business find a middle ground when contracts between corporations don’t appear to be as clear as they all thought they were. It’s an alternative to spending the next hundred years in court.”

  “Is he any good?” Jack asked.

  “I personally brought him in to help your grandfather Al resolve the problem with Mitsubishi on the new Smart Metal. If he hadn’t gotten those two hardheaded types to settle things, you’d still be waiting for your first frigate. We also found out about some new idea Earth came up with to slow and redistribute laser light so you avoid burn-through. I put him and a team from Nuu Enterprises on the next liner to Earth, and he just got back from there with a contract and specs.”

  “Ah, Grampa, we reverse-engineered that crystal stuff out on Alwa Station. This latest Wasp we rode in on has it. You might want to drop by and look at what we did to make the stuff from Earth better.”

  “Better, huh?”

  “Yep. We lost a couple of Earth ships the first time they got shot at, but we figured out why and improved the crystal armor that we grew for our new construction and backfit to our old ships.”